


Take Cover

by Interestingpumpkin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anarchy, Angst, Arson, Canon Typical Violence, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Gun Violence, Loneliness, Mentioned Character Death, Multi, Reader Insert, Rebel Farming, dystopian au, first person reader insert, seclusion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2020-06-26 16:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19771726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interestingpumpkin/pseuds/Interestingpumpkin
Summary: It's been twelve years since the government completely took over the farming and food industries, forcing the entire country into severe rationing and harsh segregation. Eight years since the Avengers disappeared, and three since Coulson died. You are all that's left of S.H.I.E.L.D. But, when the government comes knocking, you don't stick around long enough to find out what they want. In running for your life, you stumble across exactly what the world has been missing; The Avengers. Only working together can you take back what was yours and fix the country.





	1. Evacuation

**Author's Note:**

> I will be adding to the tags and relationships as I post new parts of this fic. As of right now, it is still a WIP.  
> I will be updating on a bi-monthly basis. The next chapter will be posted on Thursday, the 25ht (7/25/19)
> 
> (Just as a note, no animals are harmed in this installment, or at any point in the fic.)

“I’m leaving you in charge.” **  
**

“What?”

“You've been here for six years. You're young but you’ve got a better handle on procedures and protocols than just about anyone who’s ever walked these halls. You’re ready.”

“I don’t think you’ve got a firm grasp on what ‘ready’ means here, Phil. Choose Melinda, or Daisy, or Fitz even! But I’m not qualified!”

“We’ve had too many deserters in the past four months for me to stay in charge. You’re young and healthy and more than capable of everything I’m asking you to do.” He grips my hand tightly. “Please say yes.”

I squeeze his hand back. “You really think I can do it? That they’ll listen to me?”

He nods. “Yes, I really do. And I’ll be here to help you till I’m not, and I can only hope that’ll be enough time.”

–

Phil died eight months later, leaving me in charge of a compound much too large for me to take care of on my own, but I managed somehow. We still had deserters, some that stung more than others, but we managed. The hydroponic gardens still worked and the farming still got on perfectly thanks to the combined genius of Fitz and Simmons. Everyone who was once closest to Phil was willing to help out in any way they could, and I’m certain that they’re the reason we managed to stay hidden as long as we did.

About three years after I was put in charge, everyone was either gone or dead, leaving me the only person to look after the place. To make sure that no one could seize our resources and hold them over the rest of the country like food and water was a privilege and not a right.

After almost eight months alone, I found a lean black cat wandering the halls, probably looking for food. I figured he’d snuck in on the last grain shipment we received before everyone was gone. When I first tried to approach him, he was skittish and immediately ran away. Instead of chasing after him, I let him be. I started leaving out little portions of shredded chicken and a dish of water for him. When I could find it, I would set out a portion from a can of wet food. To this day, I try to ration out the wet food because it’s his favorite.

It’s been nearly a year since the last person left, and the lack of human connection is excruciating. As much as I love talking to Webster, tending to the gardens and looking after what little livestock is left, it’s hard to feel like I’m still sane. Every day starts blurring together and if it weren’t for the security system’s calendar and clock readouts, I probably wouldn’t know what day or time it is. The AI is primitive and can’t really hold much of a conversation unless you want someone to frantically scream at you about an emergency situation.

The only reason I’m still here is to protect the resources the church managed to put together. The government has made it their mission to seize control of any sort of food stockpile or successful farming setup to use for their own privately operated supply chain. They hike up the prices so that no one is able to afford enough food to sustain more than one person at a time, and since the Fallout, any and all jobs are controlled by the government. Even if you managed to squeeze into a manual labor position, there’s still a slim chance that you’ll ever be able to afford more than a little grain and water to get yourself by. If and when someone wanders out here looking for help, I’ll be here to give it to them.

–

Today starts just as any other would.

My alarm echoes loudly through the room and down the hall, undoubtedly waking Webster in whatever little nook he managed to find the night before. I get up, get dressed, and head out to start the day.

I wet the soil of the crops too large to fit into the hydroponic gardening shelves and spread what little fertilizer I can afford to over the space. The hope is that I’ll be able to get some corn this year, but it’s a far off fantasy at this point. When I’m finished, I move on to check through the hydroponic shelves, snipping off little dead leaves when possible and tossing them onto the compost pile. I check the filtration system before I leave to make sure that everything is running smoothly.

I do my routine check of the building, taking my time to systematically check each room for any sign of life. I start out on the lowest level and slowly work my way up, inspecting each and every exit point for any signs of movement at the doors and taking the time to oil any hinges that haven’t been oiled in six months.

As usual, there are no signs of any human life aside from my own and, in a way, it’s almost disappointing.

When I’m done with inspections I head back to the computer and surveillance room. It’s nearly noon, and everything is running the way it’s supposed to.

_“WARNING,”_ The security system flares to life and big, bright red letters flash across every single monitor. _“WARNING. INTRUDERS CROSSING TEN MILE SENSORS. BEGIN EVACUATION PROTOCOLS.”_

I immediately jump up from my chair and grab the available hard drives from the cabinet across the room. I plug them into the main computer and begin transferring all important data.

“Begin evacuation download,” I command.

_“Username required. Please speak your username.”_

“Chosen one,” I say, silently cursing Phil for being such a nerd.

_“Login successful. Download complete in six minutes.”_

I make my way to my bedroom and grab the hiking pack that had preemptively been filled with enough food and water to last Webster and I a week, maybe two if we’re careful.

I pull on my anorak and stuff my old, worn baseball cap onto my head before I begin shoving clothes into the pack. I only take what I absolutely need, carefully packing an extra pair of boots to save on room for the tech that I still need to take with me. I slip my laptop and it’s two extra batteries in along with any chargers that could possibly come in handy. I cushion everything with extra socks and underwear before placing my stuff n’ go sleeping back on top.

I sling the pack onto my shoulder and head back into the computer room. The download is nearly complete on the last two hard drives, but that’s hardly cause for any measure of relief. I pull the two finished drives from the USB ports and shove them into the pack and keep my eyes trained on the security feeds, looking for any sign on the caravan that’s closing in. There’s a dust cloud at the end of the driveway, just beyond the observable horizon, and I know I still have time to finish locking down the system.

_“Data transfer complete.”_

I yank the last two drives from the computer and slip them into my pack, zip it closed and shove my arm through the other strap. I take a deep breath to calm myself before I give the last command.

“Initiate computer lockdown.”

The system begins shutting down and soon I will be the only person alive capable of unlocking it.

I race back out into the hallway and head down to the farm. I move quickly, calling for Webster as I go. About halfway down, he falls in step beside me and even keeps up when I put on an extra burst of speed, as if he knows what’s going on.

As soon as I’m through eh doors I grab a bag and start pulling ripe fruits and vegetables from vines and stalks before completely destroying the plants. I tip over the hydroponic gardens and do my best to destroy the filtration systems and smash the garden shelves beyond recognition. I rip the sad little stalks of corn that I’d had such high hopes for from the ground and stomp all over the potato sprouts. When I’ve done what I can, I drag over the precious few gallons of gasoline I’ve been saving and begin pouring it over the eviscerated plants. The gasoline soaks into the soil and ruins any hope of anything safely growing there in the future.

With a closed fist, I smack the big red button near the emergency exit. The large door slowly begins to slide open and I move to the paddocks holding the sheep, goats, cows, and chickens and open all of the doors. It takes some pushing and shoving to get them out of their cozy homes, but I manage. They mill about momentarily until one of the cows discovers the open door and starts to move towards it and soon they’re all disappearing down the dimly lit tunnel. As soon as the last chicken is out of sight, I smack the button again and turn back to the wrecked crops.

I flick open a Zippo lighter and light it. Staring at the wreckage, I can’t fight the sinking feeling at the realization that I’ve just thrown away everything I’ve worked for in the past eight years of my life. I’m not allowed much time to mourn as I can hear heavy boots pounding down the hall. I throw the lighter down on the gasoline-soaked ground and head for the door.

Webster is waiting for me just outside the doorway and I scoop him up as I round the corner.

With Webster clutched to my chest, I hurtle through the hallways. When I reach my final destination, I press the emergency button just outside the door to start the sirens blaring. The noise is loud enough that it can temporarily deafen someone, so hopefully, it’ll slow them down for a while.

In the few seconds I have before the real noise starts, I slip into the room and lock the door behind me. I’m immediately met with a second door and I press my thumb to the scanner that sits where the lock should be to unlock the door. A quiet beep lets me know that the door is no longer locked and I turn the handle and go inside. As soon as the door shuts behind me, it locks again.

Phil liked to call this place the panic room. This is the only room in the entire facility that houses weapons of any sort and the only place that is completely soundproof. When I arrived at the front steps of the church, I had a balisong that my father had given me before he died. We weren’t allowed to have any weapons on us at any time, so Phil asked me to give it to him for safekeeping. I had been wary at the time, but looking at the number of weapons lining the walls of the panic room, I understand why Phil would want to avoid anyone having something sharper than a steak knife on them at any point in time.

It takes me a moment to find the silver butterfly knife. It’s in a small box with my name on it. I slip it into my pants pocket beside my phone. I grab a ka-bar and strap the sheathed knife to my thigh before grabbing a small duffel bag from of the shelf. I hold it open for Webster and he jumps in. I zip it up partway and loop the strap around my neck before grabbing a shotgun from the wall.

I press my thumb to the scanner on the door positioned opposite the one I came in through and the door opens into the large almost hangar-like garage. I’ve only been here a handful of times before this and each time is just as overwhelming as the last.

I choose a solar-powered motorbike and zip up the bag of fresh produce before strapping it to the back of the bike with the saddlebags. I put the shotgun in the holster near the handlebars and straddle the bike, starting the engine. I tighten the strap around my neck and situate the duffel so that Webster sits between my legs.

Revving the engine, I take off towards the evac tunnel, knowing it’ll let out in the middle of the forest out behind the church up top. Even if they’ve got the place surrounded, as I’m certain they do, there’s no way they’ll know where the tunnel lets out. It takes about five minutes at top speed to finally hit the opening of the tunnel.

“THERE SHE IS.”

Without thinking, I take the shotgun from the holster, aim behind me and fire. There’s a round of yelling and I don’t bother to look behind me, knowing that if I do they’ll start trying to actually shoot me.

They fire off several rounds, only managing to hit trees. It’s clear that I can’t keep riding on the trail. I break off into the trees and do my best to avoid roots and stray rocks. The men from the caravan pursue on foot for nearly three miles before they seem to give up. Only when I break through near the edge of the forest do I realize that they’d switched to following in their highly armored cars that could probably be more accurately described as tanks.

They pursue me for almost twenty miles before a town crops up in the distance. It seems like a good place to hide and wait for them to pass through, or better yet, give up. I push the bike as fast as I can without losing control. I manage to get far enough ahead of the caravan that they can’t catch up to me before I make it into town.

I slow down as I roll into the heart of the small town. The place looks abandoned with nearly every window smashed in and waste littering the streets. Nowhere looks particularly safe, but I manage to find an old auto repair shop that doesn’t look like it’s been too badly rummaged through. After quickly glancing around and finding no one in sight, I pull around back and shut off the bike. I make sure to set it out in the sun so that it can charge and I can only hope that no one tries to steal it. Just to be careful, I cover the bike with a ratty tarp from inside the shop, making sure to cut a hole so that the solar panels are exposed.

With my bag of fruits and vegetables clutched to my chest, I head into the shop. Everything has a layer of dust on it, and I’m scared to even touch anything. I find a place away from any of the windows and set the bag of produce down on the floor. I let my hiking pack drop from my back before dropping to the ground beside it and opening it up. I pull my sleeping bag from the top of everything and then plunge my hand down to the bottom and begin rummaging around for something to eat. I find a small package of vacuum-packed tuna and rip it open before offering a bit to Webster. He sniffs at it cautiously and then looks at me like I’m crazy.

“It’s not what you’re used to, but it’s what you’re gonna have to put up with till we can get somewhere safe enough to look for something better.”

He tilts his head to the side and licks my knuckles before taking the bit of fish from between my fingers. I sigh quietly and slump against the wall. I eat silently, occasionally feeding some to Webster. We’re halfway through the tuna when we hear the caravan rumble into town. I pull the bags against my body and press myself more firmly into the corner, praying to whoever’s listening that they don’t find me. Only when I’m sure that they’ve passed through do I allow myself to relax marginally.

I give Webster a little more fish before stuffing it back in the pack and rolling out my sleeping bag. I don’t bother to take off my boots and only slip my legs into the bag. With Webster still in the duffel that’s hugged up to my chest, I put the bag of produce in my lap and prop my hiking pack up with my shoulder. Having come this far, the fatigue hits me hard and I feel my eyelids growing heavy. I fall into an uneasy sleep, hoping for something better when I wake up.


	2. The Diner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning, the reader is chloroformed and bound to a chair in this chapter. Though nothing nefarious happens, I don't want anyone to be shocked or alarmed when they reach that part.
> 
> That being said, the next installment will be posted on Thursday, August 8th (8/8/2019)

I wake to Webster licking my nose. I push him away and press myself more firmly against the wall and try to get back to sleep. Instead of leaving me alone, Webster bites me on the nose and my entire body jerks away from his sharp little teeth. **  
**

“What the hell do you _want?!”_ I hiss. Webster meows quietly and points his nose towards one of the partially broken windows. It’s pitch dark outside and I suddenly understand.

I yank the sleeping bag off of my legs and stuff it back into its drawstring bag and then it into my pack. I push myself up off of the floor and sling the pack onto my back and grab the produce. Racing outside, I heave a sigh of relief at the sight of my tarp-covered bike. I strap the veggie bag to the bike and successfully get Webster into the duffel. Instead of starting the engine up and riding off, roll the bike out to the main road, just in case anyone from the caravan is still lurking around.

Sticking to the shadows, it takes me nearly twenty minutes to reach the other side of town. I didn’t see any sign of the people that had been following me earlier, but I didn’t want to take any chances just in case they had decided to hide as I did.

We started off on the bike again as soon as we hit the edge of town. I do my best to stick to the road but occasionally stray into the woods that flank it if I hear anyone driving up behind us. I have to take breaks a couple of times a day so I can walk around and eat while allowing the bike to recharge and sleep. We’re able to travel close to a hundred miles a day, and we manage to make pretty good time once we hit New Jersey. Only when we hit upstate New York do we encounter any serious issues.

When we hit Saratoga Springs, the bike begins to overheat. Not wanting to push it so far that a little overheating becomes a catastrophic failure, I pull off to the side of the road and cut the engine. I take this time to allow Webster to hop out of the duffel he’s been confined to for the past five hours and wander for a while. I watch him out of the corner of my eye while I check over the bike.

There isn’t anything specific that I can see without breaking down the bike that could have caused it to overheat. I don’t want to mess with it too much, so I decide to leave it be so it can cool down.

I lean against a nearby tree and dig around in my pack for something to eat. I find a ziplock bag of freeze-dried strawberries, picked clean of their seeds, and a bit of jerky from the night before. I mix the last fourth of a packet of tuna with some water and roll the package down so Webster can get to the mixture. I prop the packet up against my leg and refocus on my own meal. Webster trots over and scarfs down his food like there wasn’t anything to begin with. He cleans his paws and licks around his mouth before placing one small paw on my leg and meowing loudly.

“What?” I ask.

He nudges the soggy tuna packet with his nose and mews again.

I shake my head. “No. No more right now. We still have at least twenty miles to go till we hit Albany.”

He makes a soft frustrated noise and turns his back to me. I snort and reach out to scratch his ears.

“Fine, more water, but then you’ll have to wait till we stop again for more solid food.”

His ears perk up and he eagerly turns around and watches as I pour more water into the pouch. He sticks his nose in and starts lapping up the tuna water before I’ve even got the lid back on the water bottle. I laugh softly and pop a strawberry into my mouth.

–

I allow myself to doze off for a bit after I’m finished eating. When I wake up the sun is beginning to set. Webster is curled up on my lap, asleep. I hate to wake him, but we have to get going if we’re to make it to Albany before morning.

“Alright, bub,” I murmur, scooping him with one arm. He makes a tired mewling noise but doesn’t try to squirm away. “We gotta get going.”

Bundling Webster into the duffel, I pack everything back up and start off on the bike once again.

I manage to get about fifteen miles up the road before the bike dies completely. I try to restart the engine, but nothing happens. The engine doesn’t even turn over.

I growl and shift my weight to my left so I can put one foot on the pavement and get off the bike. After safely moving it to the side of the road, I grab the bag of fruits and veggies, sling it over my shoulder, and then kick the bike over, as if that’s a sound way to get revenge on an inanimate object. I scowl at the overturned bike before turning on my heel and walking away. Webster squirms in his duffel bag and meows loudly. Taking this as a sign that he’s had enough time to nap, I unzip the bag the rest of the way and crouch down so he can hop out.

We walk down the road, side by side. I desperately hope that I’ve made it far enough away from the caravan that was following us to safely make the journey on foot. Even if they’re still tailing us, I haven’t got much any other choice, so I resolve to just keep off of the road when at all possible.

By the time I see any new road signs, we’ve been walking for nearly three hours. Streetlights are few and far between and when one does crop up the light is simultaneously comforting and altogether too bright. After walking through the light of the first few we passed under, I tried my best to avoid them at all costs.

I try to stick to the trees, but much of the forest was planted in a grid so the trees are very evenly spaced and provide very little cover. Webster is the only one of us who can hide with any ease, as the shrubs reach my knees and he’s not a very big cat.

At about midnight, I notice a single building in the distance. I take a moment to make sure that the coast is clear before stepping back out onto the road and turn towards the building. I’m about three feet away from the underbrush when I hear a loud meow. Turning around, I find that Webster has stayed behind.

“Come on,” I crouch down and hold out a hand to him. “I think I found a place for us to stay for the night.”

He pads out of the shrubbery and sits on the side of the road, staring at me with bright, green eyes. He meows again and refuses to move. I sigh and sit on the cold asphalt.

“Why are you being so stubborn? Everything was going so well up until now, can’t you tough out one night in the mystery building?” He just stares at me and I hang my head in resignation.

A soft paw rests on my knee before I have a lap filled with cat. Webster pushes his nose against my chin and licks it several times. I laugh and push him away. He meows happily when I scratch his chin and jumps out of my lap, trotting off in the direction of the building in the distance, tail held high. I scramble to my feet and hurry to catch up with him.

As we near the building, it becomes clear that it was once a sort of ma and pop diner, The bright facade has faded to a subdued pastel and the neon signs were smashed beyond recognition long ago.

I pause at the front door and Webster brushes up against my leg, I pull the door open and a bell dings somewhere deeper in the diner. Looking around, I can see a fine layer of dust covering everything, but it’s not thick enough for a place that’s been abandoned as long as this one appears to have been from the outside.

I hear a growl from beside me and look down to see Webster with his hackles raised and the fur along his spine prickling up. He’s staring at something in the doorway of the kitchen, When I glance up to investigate, there’s a shock of red before whatever it was is gone. Immediately freaked out, I take a step backward, only to run into someone who wasn’t behind me when I walked in. I open my mouth to say something, but a rag is pressed over my and nose before any sound can come out. I scrabble uselessly at the hand holding the rag and try my best to hold my breath while doing so. I feel my shoulders sag and my defiant body grows heavy. Soon I can’t even support myself and a strong arm wraps around my waist to hold me up.

As my eyelids grow heavy, I watch as a woman with shockingly red hair scoops up Webster. She holds him tight to her chest in spite of his yowling, wriggling and scratching. I lift one heavy art, desperately wanting to help him, but I can’t reach him.

The rag is pulled away from my mouth, only to be replaced with a dark canvas hood that covers my entire head. Any sound and light is muffled and dulled by the fabric. Whatever on the rag kicks in and everything slips away.

–

The feeling of something tightening around my wrists rouses me from the drug-induced sleep, and I find it hard to ignore the subtle pounding in my head that it left behind. My eyelids are still heavy and my eyes are dry, but I do my best to force them open. When I’ve just barely managed to pry my lids apart, someone throws cold water in my face, shocking my drowsy system awake. My eyes fly open and I’m left coughing and spluttering.

_“What the hell?!”_ I hiss, blinking water from my eyes.

“Naptime’s over, sweetheart,” they growl.

“And who put me to sleep in the first place?” I mutter. I shake my head in an attempt to get my wet hair out of my face and further clear my vision.

There are two figures in the room. One with red hair, probably the woman I saw earlier. She hasn’t got Webster with her, and I’m not sure whether I should be worried or relieved. The other is standing a short ways away from me. They’re wearing worn jeans and a flannel shirt. Their hair is a dark blond. I assume they’re the one who drugged me earlier. Now that I’m more awake, I realize that they’ve taken everything I brought with me. Even my ka-bar sheath is gone from my thigh and my father’s butterfly knife is missing from my pocket.

“Who are you?” the woman asks. Her voice is harsh and pulls me out of my thoughts.

“I could ask the same of you,” I retort. “I thought the diner was abandoned.”

The blond man leans in close to me, squinting, and I pull back as far as the chair I’m stuck in will allow.

“Who are you?” the man repeats the woman’s question.

“Why would I tell you? You’re the one who drugged me and then strapped me to a chair!” I lift my hands from the arms of the chair as best I possibly can and wave them around.

“You broke in.”

“The door was unlocked!”

The woman disappears through a doorway and soon returns with my backpack in hand.

“What’s in here?” she asks.

“Clothing, food and a sleeping bag. I’m backpacking across the country.”

She drops the pack to the linoleum floor and I sigh loudly. She rummages through it, not caring that she’s throwing my socks and underwear halfway across the room. I watch as she pulls the hard drives from the pack and slaps them on the table before diving back in for more. She retrieves my spare batteries and laptop before she looks up again.

“Why do you have S.H.I.E.L.D. tech?” she demands. The man standing in front of me perks up at the name and turns to investigate.

“What do you mean? It’s my laptop. The only thing that’s on it is my journal and a log of daily reports.”

“Reports of what?”

“Again, why should I tell you anything?” I say, scowling at both of them. “You’ve drugged me, stolen my cat, strapped me to a chair and now you’re rifling through my shit! I’m not exactly feeling forthcoming right this moment and I don't see any reason why I should be.”

“Sounds like she’s got a death wish,” the man mutters.

“Yeah, well better you kill me than the government thugs who were chasing me a week and a half ago,” I mumble, my eyes trained on my pack.

“You’re wanted by the government?” the woman asks.

I shrug. “I was the last person left at a functional farming station and I destroyed everything before they could get to it. Tends to piss those guys off.”

She snorts. “Wow, sounds like you’ve been living an exciting life.” She folds her arms across her chest and takes several steps forward so she’s standing in front of me, her toes practically touching mine. “Doesn’t explain why you’ve got old S.H.I.E.L.D. tech in your pack.”

I squint at her and tilt my head to the side. “You look familiar.”

She raises her eyebrows, but her expression remains wholly unimpressed. “Do I really.”

“Yeah, you do, actually.” I lean forward slightly and it hits me. “Phil had a picture of you on his desk!”

“Phil?” she asks.

The man behind her turns around and stalks up beside her. “Phil _Coulson_?”

“Yes, why?”

“You knew Coulson?”

“Yes, I knew him. He was in charge of the Church until about four years ago.”

“Was? What happened to him?” the man asks.

“He had cancer and we couldn’t get the tech necessary to help him, so he was dying. He put me in charge eight months before he passed away.”

The man shakes his head. “That can’t be right, he died years before that.” He glances at the woman at his side. “We saw it happen.”

“Well, then he must have been a different Phil Coulson because he was very much alive when I showed up on the Church doorstep.”

“What’d he look like?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know, five-nine? Kept his hair short because he was worried about his receding hairline. Had a really nice smile. He made really bad dad jokes all the time. Had an awful habit of making every single person who set foot through our doors feel like part of his family. People liked him.”

“It had to be him, Nat,” the man whispers.

“She could be lying,” she hisses back.

“Yeah, well I’m not, so you can stop whispering about me like I’m not sitting seven inches away from you.” I scowl at both of them. “You were in the picture too. Looked like the three of you were close.”

“We were,” he says, his expression neutral. “You said you were in charge?”

“Yes, I was.”

“What happened to you being in charge?”

“It’s hard to be in charge of people who have either left or died.”

“Who did you work with when you were in charge, then?” the woman asks.

“A lot of people, actually. If you’re wanting specifics, there was Melinda May, Grant Ward, Fitz and Simmons, and Daisy Johnson. There were a few others, but they defected almost as soon as Phil announced I was in charge.” I sigh and flick a lock of drying hair out of my eyes.

“She was as close to being the director as anyone could get, Nat.”

“Can you please tell me what you’re talking about?” I ask. “It seems like you know more about this than I do. I don’t even know your names.”

The two exchange looks that speak volumes that I will likely never understand. He frowns and she tilts her head to the side before his shoulders slump and he nods.

“My name is Natasha Romanoff, and this,” She jerks her thumb to the man beside her. “Is Clint barton.”

I shake my head. “I'm sorry, Romanoff and Barton as in the Black Widow and Hawkeye Romanoff and Barton?”

“Yes,” she answers.

“Well that explains why you drugged me,” I say, eyebrows raised in surprise. Clint pulls the knife from his belt and cuts the zip ties from my wrists. I rub at the red circling my wrists and look to Natasha. “Where’s Webster?”

“Who?”

“My cat, Webster. Where is he?” I repeat.

“You named your cat Webster?” Clint asks.

I shrug. “He’s a smart cat.”

He shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Come on,” he says, offering me a hand up. “I’ll take you to him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos would be greatly appreciated! I genuinely want to know what you guys think!


	3. The Avengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't post this chapter in August like I said I would. Work responsibilities got in the way, and I haven't been able to slow down and find time till now. Because of my time constraints, I'm moving this fic to a bi-monthly posting schedule, which will leave me more time to better edit pre-existing chapters and write chapters that follow. If everything goes according to plan, chapter 4 will be posted on Saturday, November 23rd (11/23/2019)
> 
> Please enjoy this chapter

I follow Clint down several dimly lit hallways, trying to stick close to him without crowding him.

“When can I have my knife back?” I ask.

“Never,” he answers.

“I just want the butterfly knife. That’s all.”

“Why do you need it so badly?”

“It was my dad’s.” He shoots me a questioning look. “What? I’m serious! Phil kept all weapons locked up and I hadn’t even looked at it until I ran for my life last week.”

He looks me over, his suspicion overtly clear. I roll my eyes and fold my arms in an attempt to show that he doesn’t scare me.

“I’ll talk to the team about it,” he says finally. He quickly turns the corner and I have to rush to keep up.

“Thank you,” I say. “Wait.” I stop dead in my tracks.

“What?” He asks, obviously annoyed.

“The team as in the _Avengers_?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “You didn’t think Natasha and I were the only ones left, did you?”

“Honestly, I don’t know what to think. Everyone believes you’re dead, actually.”

“Really?” He seems genuinely surprised.

“You’ve been missing for eight years! After you were declared outlaws, you all basically dropped off the face of the Earth. Can you blame people for thinking you up and kicked the bucket?”

He stares at me, brow furrowing. His lips part like he wants to say something, but he clamps his mouth shut. His jaw clenches and his eyes grow dark. I can’t remember the last time I saw someone as angry as he looks right now. My eyes widen and I shrink back from him, fully aware of who he is, what he can do and how harsh my tone was. His eyes flit over me and his expression softens, his posture relaxing.

“Come on,” He turns on his heel and gestures for me to follow him. “They’re waiting for us.”

“What?” I follow after him, baffled by the instantaneous change in his mood. Distracted, I trip over my feet in my hurry to keep up with the pace he’s set, but manage to catch myself on the wall before I can actually fall.

“What?” he asks, his tone flat.

I shake my head. “Nothing, you were just so pissed a moment ago.”

“I still am, just not at you.”

I pause for a moment, taken aback by his response before realizing that he’s not waiting up for me this time. I pick up my pace and soon I’ve caught up, though I’m trying to keep my distance. Keeping up with him is easier than it was before and I suspect he may have slowed his pace some.

The layout of their facility is surprisingly familiar. The materials are higher quality and the doors are labeled better, but the floor plan is nearly identical to the Church’s.

Clint stops in front of a door with the number seventy etched into the nameplate. He presses his thumb to the scanner and a loud buzzing sounds from behind the door. Yanking the door open, he gestures for me to go through first. When I raise my eyebrows at him, he sighs, rolls his eyes and walks through, still holding the door open for me. Just through the door is a lab far better equipped than anything that Fitz and Simmons had to work with. The lights are bright to the point of almost hurting my eyes and it takes some time for them to adjust.

“So, this is the kid that’s been running S.H.I.E.L.D. for almost three years?” a new voice asks.

“Yes,” someone else answers. It sounds like Natasha.

I rub my eyes and everyone in the room comes into focus. Tony Stark sits directly across from me and Natasha leans on the table he’s seated at. Steve Rogers is focussed on a monitor and hasn’t looked at me since I walked in. Sam Wilson and Wanda Maximoff are here as well and Bruce Banner is sitting off to the side with Webster in his lap.

“You like my cat, Dr. Banner?” I ask, trying to keep the amusement from my voice.

“He just jumped into my lap and hasn’t moved since,” he says. “Other than that, I guess he’s a good cat.”

I try my hardest not to laugh. “I’m sorry, once he finds a comfortable seat, he doesn’t really want to move.” I snap my fingers twice and Webster’s ears perk up. “Come on, Webster, leave the nice man alone.”

He meows indignantly, but jumps down from Banner’s lap and trots over nonetheless.

“His name is _Webster?”_ Wilson asks.

“He’s a smart cat.” I crouch down and scoop Webster up. “He is currently my only friend.”

“That’s sad,” Stark remarks.

“Yeah,” I concede. “Probably ”

“So, we know your cat's name. What’s _your_ name?” Stark asks.

“(Y/N),” I answer. I notice he’s got my laptop and hard drives laid out on the table in front of him. “You’ll never get into those.”

“I’m Tony Stark, I’m pretty sure I can crack a few hard drives and a junky old laptop.”

“Not without my DNA you won’t.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really.” I nod, scratching Webster between his ears. “But I’ll open them up for you if you ask nicely.”

“What?” The Captain looks up from what he’s doing. “You’ll just give us the information?”

“Do I look like I’m stupid enough to say no to a room full of people who could kill me with less effort than I put into dressing myself this morning?”

Clint laughs outright from beside me, and I can see Natasha’s lips twitch with the effort it takes to keep from smiling. Stark looks at Rogers, eyebrows raised in surprise. No one is anywhere near as amused as Clint is, but it’s clear that everyone is marginally more at ease.

“Why would you just give us the data?” Stark asks, shaking his head. “What’s the catch?”

“I want to help you use it.”

“Use what?”

“Well, most of what’s on there is the data we gathered on our farming setups. Soil nutrient levels, the best growing conditions for certain crops. Hydroponic garden plans. Everything my team and I worked on in the past eight years and even some from before I showed up. I want some say in how that is used. Whatever else is left on there is probably S.H.I.E.L.D. information that was probably meant to make it to you at one point or another, so it’s yours.”

“I can see why Coulson chose you,” Rogers says. Looking around at the group, he pauses on Stark who nods before the Captain turns his gaze on me. “You think you’re prepared for that kind of work?”

“With all due respect, Captain, I’ve been doing it on my own for the past year. If I were looking for an easy way out, I would have walked away a long time ago.”

“Alright,” Stark says, sounding satisfied. “Any other demands?”

“Yeah, actually, I’d like my shit back,” I say curtly. “I don’t care about the ka-bar, but I want the butterfly knife, the fruits and vegetables, and whatever else was in the pack. It’s all I’ve got left from home.”

“That we can do.”

“Thank you.” Webster jumps down from my arms and I hold out my thumb. “So, how about you ask nicely so I can give you access to that data you’re itching for?”

“What’s with the thumb?”

“It requires blood verification.” I gesture to my hand. “Thus the thumb.”

“Ah,” He nods slowly. “In that case, may I please have access to the data?”

“Of course.” I carefully approach the table. I spin the laptop around, open it up, and press the power button. A small needle shoots out of the middle of the circle and pricks the pad of my thumb, taking a small sample of blood.

I stick my thumb in my mouth and wait for the laptop to power on. The screen flickers to life and I type in the password with one hand while plugging one of the hard drives in so I can start unlocking them. I had off the drives to Stark as they’re unlocked until there are none left.

“Do you have a spare drive?” I ask.

Stark hands me an empty drive without even taking his eyes off what he’s doing, I watch him work. His eyes scan over all of the notes I’ve taken over the years, very aware of how serious this is. I shake my head to recenter myself and plug the empty hard drive into my laptop. After all of the files have been copied onto the drive, I pass it over to Stark.

Looking around the room, it’s mostly empty with only Clint, Natasha and Rogers still hanging around.

“What the hell is this?”

“Hm?” I turn my attention back to Stark. He’s scowling at the monitor.

“Why does this look like a journal?”

“Because it is.”

“I don’t want to read about your late-night sexcapades and teenage angst.”

“Lucky for you it’s just a log of the work I did each day. No weird sex stuff.” I pause to finish typing something before looking at him, head tilted to the side. “Just how old do you think I am?!”

“Twenty-three?” He watches my expression like he was watching his monitor earlier, looking for even the slightest change. “Twenty-five, final guess.”

“Try twenty-eight.” His mouth drops open and I allow myself to laugh. “I was twenty-four when Phil put me in charge and twenty-five when he died three years ago.” His eyes widen further. “Don’t look so surprised. Aren’t you the one who graduated from MIT at fifteen?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it just took me a little longer to find my calling in life,” I joke.

“So running a renegade farming station is your life calling?” Clint jokes, walking up beside me and looking over my shoulder.

“Maybe a week ago. Now I’m starting to think it’s running into trouble.”

Clint rolls his eyes. “Haha, very funny.”

“I’m serious. In the span of a week, I’ve managed to get caught by and run from the government and get not only drugged, but interrogated by Avengers. It seems like I’m a magnet for trouble.”

“She’s right,” Natasha confirms. “She’s managed to cause more trouble in a week than you have in a year, Clint. I’d call that a record.”

Clint mumbles something about him not being as bad as she says he is and Natasha flicks his ear. He laughs and heads out into the hallway.

“Is he really that bad?” I ask.

“He’s terrible. Constantly got himself hurt before we had to go into hiding,” she confirms. Natasha looks me over and it feels like she’s sizing me up. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“She’s going to show you to your room,” Rogers answers.

“Oh. Is it alright if I take the laptop with me?” The question is directed at Stark.

“If you’ve transferred all of the important data already, then it’s fine.” He answers.

Snapping the laptop closed, I tuck it under my arm and call for Webster to follow us. Natasha leads the way out of the lab and down the hall. While she walks just as quickly as Clint did, to begin with, she’s easy to keep up with and I suspect it’s because she’s not as wary of me as he was. Whether that’s good or bad, I can’t be sure yet.

The silence between us is almost as deafening as the sounds of our footsteps echoing through the empty hallway. The temptation to talk to her is great, but she’s so intimidating that I just keep my mouth shut and watch the way her curls bounce as she walks.

“You said Coulson had cancer.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what kind?”

“No,” I shake my head. “Just hat they caught it too late. It had spread too far and Simmons couldn’t do anything but tell him he had six months to live at best.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Yeah, it would’ve been, had the stubborn bastard not lived for nearly three more years.”

She snorts, which is probably the closest I’ll even hear to a laugh from her.

“If anyone could manage it, it would have been him.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to see him before he passed away. He would have loved to see you again. All of you, really.”

“Don’t act like you know how I feel,” she snaps.

“I’m not.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “I just know that Phil really cared about you.”

She brings one hand up to her face and rubs something away with the pads of her fingers. It takes me a moment to realize she’s crying. That’s my fault.

“We don’t have to talk,” I say softly.

“No,” she says. “It’s fine. We’re almost there anyway.”

As soon as we turn the next corner, Natasha pushes a door open and gestures for me to go through. I shuffle past her and into a small room. There’s a cot in one corner with my pack on it. Webster weaves between my legs before jumping up onto the cot and curling up on the pillow. He yawns widely and then appears to fall asleep.

“Lazy cat,” I mutter.

“It’s not much, but it’s better than sleeping in a dusty diner.”

“It’s more than enough, thank you.” I flash her an appreciative smile, but it falters. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, backing out of the room. “Get some rest. I’ll be back tomorrow to get you.”

She doesn’t wait for a response and walks away, leaving the door to slowly swing shut behind her. The door clicks shut and the room falls completely silent save for the drip from the faucet in the corner opposite the cot. The room isn’t much, but it’s more than I probably should have been given, considering the circumstances. There’s a sink, a toilet and a tiny shower set into the wall directly beside it. All things considered, this is more of a room than I should have been given in the first place.

Natasha didn’t bother locking the door before she left, but I doubt she’d appreciate it if I tried to leave. I’m too tired to even try anyway.

I plop down onto the cot and begin going through my pack. Everything is there and even the produce I wanted back has been carefully placed inside. My butterfly knife is tucked into a pair of socks alongside the baseball cap they took off me when I arrived. The surprise I feel shouldn’t be as strong as it is. These are the Avengers. They’re the good guys. I should be able to trust them.

I shake my head. It’s too late in the day to be dealing with all of these logic gymnastics.

Pulling a change of clothes out of my pack, I get ready for bed. As much as I appreciate the blankets laid out on the cot, I decide to sleep with the sleeping bag I brought with me. I roll it out onto the cot and clear everything else away, careful to keep all of my stuff with my pack.

Now that I’ve finally got a moment’s peace, I can actually keep my journal again. I shimmy into the sleeping bag and coax Webster off of the pillow so I can prop myself up. I open my laptop and start a new document.

_It’s been almost a week and a half since the government found the church. I destroyed everything as best I could, but I worry that I didn’t do enough. Webster and I made it to New York with few issues and I think we may have made some new friends._

_As it turns out, the Avengers aren’t dead, they just got really good at hiding. They knew Phil, and I guess he was the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., whatever that is. From what they’ve told me, because he left me in charge I’m basically the next best thing. I don’t know how much use I’ll be to them, but they’ve agreed to let me use the data I brought to help them. I was sure that my work would be stuck in a bunch of hard drives when I picked up and ran, but I’m glad it’s getting used._

_I don’t care how hard it is, I’m going to make this work, even if it kills me._

  * _(Y/N)_



Satisfied with what I’ve written, I save the file, set my laptop to the side and go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! Comments and kudos would be greatly appreciated!


	4. Farming, Flirting, and Other Nonsense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work was crazy this Saturday, so I'm a little late posting, but the next chapter will absolutely be on time. Chapter 5 will be posted on Saturday, December 7th! (12/7/19)
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this chapter!

I’m up nearly two hours before anyone comes to get me. Sleeping in a new environment combined with my newfound paranoia messed with my sleep, so I showered for the first time in a week and decided to start plotting a new garden while I waited. Webster didn’t move from his place between my feet the entire night and it’d easy to take that as a sign that he’s settling in were he not such a protective cat.

Someone knocks on the door and I shuffle over, opening it just a crack.

“Clint?” I open the door fully and lean against the frame. “I thought Natasha was supposed to get me.”

“Change of plans.” He inclines his head and slips his hands into his pockets. “Got a problem with that?”

I smile goodnaturedly and shake my head. “Not a one.”

I turn back into the room and move to the cot so I can put my socks and shoes on. Clint follows and looks around the room.

“Looks like you’re settling in alright,” he comments.

“More or less,” I tighten the laces of my boots. “Might take Webster a little longer to get comfortable, though.”

“Oh?”

“He sat on Banner’s lap last night to test the waters,” I explain. “Find the biggest guy in the room, make friends with him and go from there.”

“How’d he know Banner’d be the biggest guy?”

“Who knows, cats are weird.” I grab my laptop from the bedside table and push myself up from the cot. “Where to first?”

“The lab,” Clint answers, already headed for the door. “Stark has more questions that he thinks you’ve got the answers to.”

“Sounds good.”

I follow him out into the hall. I don’t bother trying to keep pace with him today. It’s like he doesn’t realize how fast he’s walking. Thankfully, I remember the way back to the lab well enough to find my way if I lose him.

I walk through the doorway before him when he holds the door this time, and I notice him smile before filing in behind me.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” Stark says. He’s still sitting in the same spot as he was last night. Coffee mugs litter the table around him.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark,” I reply. “Looks like you’ve had a long night.”

“Certainly isn’t the longest one I’ve had,” he says.

“I believe you.” I set my laptop down. “Clint says you have some questions for me?”

“I do, and if you’re gonna call Barton “Clint”, you’re gonna have to call me Tony because-”

“Mr. Stark was your father?” He smirks and I laugh. “Got it. So, what I do for you _Tony_?”

“I need you to clarify some acronyms for me.”

“Alright, which ones?”

He points to the screen with a ballpoint pen. “UVM, ML, and CPU.”

“Alright, well UVM is short for UV minutes. We used it to label the amount of time our crops were exposed to light, whether is was simulated natural light or from a regular light bulb. ML is moisture level and refers to the humidity and water levels. CPU is compost units.”

“Why not just use CU?”

“Because we were using that for chicken units.” Tony raises his eyebrows questioningly. “We had a lot of chickens.”

“Fair enough,” He makes a note in the document. “Any reason why you walked in here with the diary of a runaway farm girl tucked under your arm?”

“I started working on some plans for a new crop configuration. Thought you might want to take a look.”

He lifts one eyebrow, a slow impressed smile shaping his mouth.

“Oh really?”

“Well, whether or not the plans can be executed depends on what options you’ve got for crops and whether or not the seeds are even viable for growth.” I open the laptop and pull up the document I was working on earlier this morning. “Not to mention the space you’ve got available.”

“Sounds doable,” Tony leans across the table to look at the plans. He scrolls through the plans, eyes quickly darting across each image. “These are quite complex, (Y/N).”

“Don’t sound too impressed.”

“When did you start on these?”

“This morning,” I shrug. “Couldn’t really sleep past six. Needed to entertain myself.”

“If that’s what you call entertainment then I’d hate to see what you do for fun,” Clint remarks.

“Maybe I just need someone to teach me how to actually have fun,” I suggest.

“No flirting in my lab.” Tony scowls.

“You’re just jealous,” Clint says.

I roll my eyes. “Do you already have space for crops, or will one need to be converted?”

“We’ve already got one,” Clint answers. “I’ll show you when Stark’s done with you.”

Tony shakes his head and pushes my laptop back to me. I close it and raise my eyebrows at him.

“I’m good for now, so go do whatever you want.”

“Cool. If you have any other questions, just let me know.”

Scooping up my laptop, I dip my head to Tony and flash him a smile. Clint takes us out into the hallway and we bundle into a small elevator. It takes us down two floors and opens onto a massive, soil-covered space. The ceilings are high and the lights are big and bright enough that they warm the whole hangar-sized room. With the smell of dirt and the warm atmosphere, it almost feels like I’m back home.

“You suddenly look much better,” Clint says.

“Would it be weird to say that this feels like home?” I ask, setting my laptop against the wall before wandering around the perimeter of the room.

“You said the church the last eight years of your life, right?” I nod. “Well, that’s exactly it. It was your life. It was your home. This is the closest you’ve gotten in almost two weeks.”

“So it’s not weird?”

He laughs. “No, it’s not.”

“Good. It’s nice to know I’m not weird.”

“Oh no, you are. Just a special kind of dirt-loving weird.”

“You’re an ass,” I try to sound angry, but I wind up laughing instead.

“It’s better that you learn it earlier than later.” He steps up to the edge of the large patch of soil. “What’re you thinking?”

“When was the last time you tried planting something?”

He shrugs. “Probably about a year ago. Nothing seemed to take.”

“Alright,” I nod to myself and kick at a clump of dry soil. “Looks like this is going to take a little extra work.”

“That gonna be an issue?”

“Shouldn’t be. I might need a little help here and there, but nothing serious.”

“Good. Follow me.”

He walks across the barren field to the opposite end of the room. There’s a door that I hadn’t seen originally, as it’s set into the wall. The edges are indistinguishable from the wall until Clint places his hand over the place where a doorknob should be. The door swings inward and he walks into the dark room. I wait outside until I hear a soft click, and the room is illuminated by a soft light.

Inside, the walls are lined with seed packets and canvas bags filled with corn, grain, and other crops that had been previously harvested and stored. Even at our best, the church had nothing close to this level of storage.

“Holy shit.”

“What?”

“You do realize we’re standing in the middle of a literal goldmine, right?” I wander around, trying to wrap my head around the sheer volume of potential crops. “No wonder you all went into hiding.”

“That sounds like a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Oh, I wish I was exaggerating. That bag of produce I brought with me? That’s the last of what I’d been growing and I’ve been saving the seeds from everything I’ve eaten. Even before that, we were lucky if we managed to fill a room half this size with what we were able to put aside after harvest.”

“Then I trust you to make the best use of what we’ve got here,” Clint says.

“You barely know me,”

“Maybe, but Coulson knew you well enough to trust you with more than this.”

I snort. “The man was terminally optimistic.”

“Nah, he was a good judge of character. He saw the best in people, and he’d be proud of what you’ve done.”

Tears pool at the corners of my eyes and I turn my face away from Clint. “There’s no way you could know that.” I rub the tears away with the heel of my hand, determined not to cry.

“I knew him just as long as you did, probably longer.” He steps closer, his arms outstretched like he’s going to hug me and I place a hand in the middle of his chest to stop him. His large hand covers mine and I feel something in me break. “You’ve done so much good and that’s what he’d be proud of.”

“Great time for you to suddenly be eloquent,” I mutter, still trying to wipe the tears away.

He laughs and rubs his thumb across the back of my hand. “It’s my superpower.”

“Quite the superpower,” I say, finally managing to tamp down my tears. He smiles sadly at me and I smile back.

“It has its perks,” he shrugs. “You good?”

I nod and sniff loudly. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, he was your family.”

“He was yours too.” My voice is softer than I meant it to be. “At least he felt you were part of his.”

He laughs hoarsely and his hand tightens around mine. “He is one of the greatest men I have ever known. It’d be pretty disrespectful not to claim him as my family.” His brows pull together. “This is the most I’ve talked about my feelings in two years.”

“What happened two years ago?”

“Tony got us all drunk and I started talking to Nat about a bunch of stuff.” He shakes his head. “I do a lot of embarrassing stuff, but that’s pretty high up on the list.”

“Well, hopefully this was better.”

“It was.” The corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. “Is this weird?”

“Holding hands and baring our souls to one another in a closet filled with seeds?” He raises his eyebrows, silently asking me to get to the point. “Not any weirder than casually hanging out with Avengers.”

“So it’s weird.”

“Yeah, a little.” I cover his hand with my free one. “Sometimes weird is good though. With everything that’s happening, weird might as well be normal.”

“Sounds about right.”

Clint smiles and I can’t seem to keep myself from smiling back. The feeling of his calloused hand between mine is warm and has quickly become familiar. I notice the smile lines at the corners of his eyes and the laughter lines around his mouth. I remember making him laugh last night and I wonder how often he actually allows himself to relax.

A need to escape this rises and I do my best to tamp it down. To smother the anxious voice at the back of my mind. I haven’t been in a situation this intimate in several years. An anxious response should be normal, right? Instead of running away, I squeeze his hand and pull myself free from his grasp. I can still feel his hand on mine. I shove it in my pocket to keep myself from checking to see if there’s some kind of mark.

“I should probably get to work,” I say, clearing my throat.

“Right, yeah,” Clint shakes his head like he’s been broken out of a trance. “Anything I could do to help?”

“If you could show me where you keep fertilizer and where I can get water, that’d be great.”

He nods and quickly shows me where things are. The fertilizer is in a separate room with shovels, rakes, hoes, and other tools, adjacent to the one filled with seeds. The water faucet is back across the room where we came in, about seven feet away from the elevator. Before he heads for the elevator, Clint grabs me a hose and a couple of pails for water.

“Have you eaten yet?”

I shake my head. “No, I’ve been trying to conserve our food supply.”

"What do you mean by "our food supply?"

"Well, I came here with only a "

Clint scowls. “I’ll bring something down for you in a bit,” he declares. “Do you want me to bring webster with me?”

“That would be… really nice, actually,” I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, (Y/N),” Clint shakes his head as he steps into the elevator. “Be back soon.”

I wave goodbye to him as the doors close.

–

“Clint?” Wanda pokes her head out into the hall as he rushes past. “Clint, what’s the rush!”

He slows enough to see Wanda jogging down the hall after him.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“That’s a lot of food, even for you,” she says gesturing to the tray balanced in his hands. “And you have a cat?”

“He’s (Y/N)’s,” Clint explains. “She’s working on that pile of dirt we’ve had sitting around. Hasn’t eaten yet so I’m taking her something and a little company.”

“Wow,” she raises her eyebrows and her eyes flash red. “You like her.”

“What? No, I’ve barely known her for one day.” He scowls and heads back down the hallway.

Wanda follows, shaking her head. She picks Webster up when she sees he’s struggling to keep up and cradles him in her arms. Clint is halfway to the elevator when she manages to catch up to him.

“It doesn’t matter how long you’ve known her, the point is that you do, in fact, like her.”

“How many times have I told you to stay out of my head?”

She shrugs. “A few. Your mouth lies, but your thoughts can’t, Clint.”

Clint sighs and shakes his head. “Something happened between us down there, and I don’t know exactly what it was, but she wanted to run.”

“Did she?”

“I-no. She didn’t.”

“Then things will be fine.” She places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You can’t let the failures of the past dictate the future before it even happens.”

“You’re too young to be this wise.”

“And you’re too old to be this stupid.”

Clint scoffs. “I'm pretty sure stupid has no age.”

“Which means there is always time to grow out of it.”

“Yeah, but that would mean examining my flaws, and I don’t think I have the energy for that.” He means it as a joke, but his somber expression betrays him.

“Just let things happen, Clint. Be there for her.”

He nods. “I’m gonna need the cat back. (Y/N)’ll wanna see him.”

Wanda nods and allows Webster to leap down from her arms. Clint bids her farewell and heads back to the elevator. His heart is pounding, but he’s calmer now than before Wanda found him.

–

True to his word, Clint is back within half an hour.

I look up from my laptop when the doors open and Clint waves. Webster sprints across the room to me and I set my laptop aside so he can jump into my lap. He rubs his face against mine and makes loud, happy noises.

“Hey, bubba, I missed you.” I scratch his chin and kiss his nose. Webster purrs loudly and presses his face into my hand.

“He’s the most affectionate cat I’ve ever seen,” Clint comments.

“Yeah, I think it’s just because he hasn’t seen me for a bit.” Webster meows and licks my hand to get my attention. “What’s wrong? Did I stop petting you? Is that why you’re so vocal today?”

Clint laughs and takes a seat on the ground opposite me. He offers me a plate of scrambled eggs and hashbrowns and I take it. At the sound of a can opening, Webster is immediately more interested in where the noise came from than in me. He watches with rapt attention as Clint shovels a heaping portion of wet food onto a plate. When Clint pushes the plate closer, Webster licks his chops, but doesn’t make any move towards the food. I gently nudge him towards the food, but he only takes a couple steps forward.

“I think you need to tell him it’s his food,” I say. “He’s probably worried you’ll take it away.”

Clint nods and pushes the plate even closer.

“That’s for you, buddy. Eat as much as you want.” Webster makes a chirping noise and Clint smiles. “All yours. Have at it.”

Not needing any further prompting, Webster quickly closes the distance between him and the plate. He makes little mewling noises as he eats, making Clint and I smile. I watch him eat half of his food before even touching my own breakfast.

“Thank you,” I look directly at Clint. The weird energy that sparked between us before isn’t there. This is comfortable. Something I can handle.

“For what?”

“Everything,” I look away and push food around on my plate. “Just… everything.”

Clint shakes his head. “We protect our own. As soon as you stepped through the door, you became one of us. Not that any of us would ever admit it, but we didn’t know how much information we were missing until you showed up. We need you.”

“I-thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for.” He looks around the room. “What you _can_ do is let me help you with whatever you’re doing down here.”

“Really? You actually want to help?” Clint shrugs. “Basically all I’m doing today is playing with wet dirt.”

“Unless someone decides otherwise, I don’t have anything else to do. Teach me your ways, Dirt Queen.”

I laugh easily. “Fine, but you can’t complain.”

He holds up his right hand and crosses an X over his heart. I shake my head and he grins at me before tucking into his own breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! Comments and kudos would be greatly appreciated! I always want to know what you think ;u;


	5. The Dream(?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly just developing the relationships within the new team unit, but stay tuned till the end for a mystery? (AkA: Shit gets real, and we don't know if it's actually real.)
> 
> Chapter six will be up Saturday, December 21st! (12/21/2019)

“How long have you two been in here?”

Tony and I look up from our project momentarily to see Bruce standing in the lab doorway. Tony turns his attention back to the half-assembled hydroponic shelf and continues working. I blink rapidly, suddenly feeling the burning in my eyes.

“I have no idea,” I answer. “I think the right answer is “too long”, though.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., how long have they been working?”

_“Approximately fifty-two hours, Doctor Banner.”_

“No wonder you look like death warmed over.”

“Has it really been that long?” I ask.

_“Yes,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. answers.

“Well, that’s not good.”

“You took a few naps here and there,” Tony says.

“It’s been two days! Napping here and there isn’t enough sleep for two days.”

“Eh,” Tony shrugs. “Depends.”

“No!" I scowl and heave a sigh. "Tony, the hydroponic gardens are important, but they don’t take precedence over sleeping.”

“She’s right, Tony,” Bruce crouches down beside me and frowns at him. “You’re not punching a clock with this project. We’ve got years before our food stores run out. Finishing this in three days isn’t going to change that.”

“Maybe we _did_ push a little too hard.” Tony scowls. “But we got a lot done in those two days.”

“You did, but now you need to rest.” Tony nods and hauls himself up from the work table. Bruce turns back to me and asks, “Can you get back to your room on your own?”

I nod, only for my legs to buckle when I stand up. “Okay, maybe I need some help.”

Bruce nods and helps me up. With my arm slung around his shoulders, Bruce helps me stumble back to my room. About halfway back, Clint comes jogging up the hallway.

“Wanda said there was something wrong,” he says, skidding to a stop two feet in front of us. “What happened?”

“Tony and I got carried away in the lab,” I answer.

“Two days worth of carried away,” Bruce explains.

“Two days? Really?” Clint asks. Bruce nods. “Are you sure she was in the lab the whole time? Wanda says she had lunch with her yesterday, and we worked downstairs for a few hours both yesterday and the day before that.”

“I don’t remember any of that,” I say, shaking my head.

“It would explain why you’re so weak,” Bruce shifts his hold on my waist and tries to help me stand up straighter. “You’ve been working two jobs on no sleep.”

“Huh,”

“Where were you two headed?” Clint inquires.

“I’m taking her back to her room.”

“And you let Stark go back to his on his own?” Clint quirks an eyebrow and Bruce’s eyes go wide. “I can take (Y/N) back to her room if you want to make sure Stark actually went to bed.”

“Sounds good,” Bruce readily agrees and shifts me over to Clint. “Get Wanda if there’s a problem.”

Clint nods and we watch Bruce hurry off down the hallway in the opposite direction before Clint returns us to the original course.

“So,” Clint starts. “You don’t remember a single thing that happened outside of working in the lab?”

“Not really. I think I remember seeing Wanda on the way to get something to eat? But everything is just blurred together until Bruce found us.”

“Sounds like it’s dangerous to leave you two together for extended periods of time.”

I laugh and tighten my arm around his shoulders. “You’re probably right.”

“That’s a twist.”

“We did get a lot of work done, though. It’s entirely possible that we’ll have a set of five hydroponic shelves finished before the end of the week!”

Clint smiles at my enthusiasm. “That’s great, but you can’t do that if you don’t get some rest.”

“Oho, no problems there. As soon as my head hits that pillow I will be out. Like, down for the count, doesn’t matter if you leave the lights on, dead to the world asleep.”

“Hopefully you’re right.”

Clint manages to get me into my room and sits me on the cot. My room is quieter than it usually is, and it takes me a moment to figure out why.

“Where’s Webster?” I ask.

“With Wanda.”

“Would you apologize to him for me?”

“Why?” he asks, handing me a set of pajamas and turning his back so I can change.

“I haven’t been spending as much time with him as I should. He’s probably grumpy because I’ve neglected him,” I explain while I change into the soft, warm pajamas. “You can turn around now.”

“I’ll pass along your message,” he says once he’s facing me again.

“Thank you,” I smile at him and nod once.

I unzip my sleeping bag and crawl inside. Curling into myself, the sleeping bag warms quickly and my eyelids grow heavy. Clint sits beside me on the cot and I unconsciously move closer to him. I reach out one hand and he gently takes it in his.

“Thanks for putting up with me,” I say softly.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you basically just carried me to my room and tucked me into bed. Not to mention the fact that you’ve been stuck looking after me since I got here.”

“I haven’t been stuck with you at all. I _like_ being around you. Spending time with you is nice.”

“Aww, you’re just saying that.” I shift so I can see him better. “But I’m glad you’re the one pretending to be my friend. I think it’d be weird if it were someone else.” I giggle and cover my face with my free hand. “Could you imagine Steve spending all the time with me that you have? He’d go nuts!”

Clint shakes his head and pulls my hand away from my face. The hurt etched into his features confuses me and I frown.

“You really think I’m pretending to be your friend?” he asks, his voice soft.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m an outsider, not an Avenger. I don’t belong here. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on me.”

“(Y/N), I wouldn’t be spending time with you if I didn’t want to.” He shakes his head again and rubs his thumb over the back of my hand. “Nat’s been trying to pull me away from you for two weeks, but working with you downstairs is way more fun than I expected it to be and I want to spend as much time with you as possible.”

“But Natasha’s your best friend.”

“Yeah, she is. And she knows when I’m headed towards making a fool of myself.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. The point is, I care about you. You’re my friend. I don’t spend two months getting to know people I don’t care about.”

“Are you sure?”

“Completely.” He smiles and pushes my hair off of my forehead.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Good,” He pushes himself up from the cot and heads for the door. “You should get some sleep.”

I nod and snuggle deeper into the warmth of my sleeping bag. It’s not long after Clint turns out the lights that my eyes close and I fall deeply asleep.

–

“How is she?” Wanda asks as soon as Clint sets foot in the kitchen.

“She doesn’t remember anything from the past two days, aside from working in the lab,” he says, setting about making a pot of coffee. “Could that be because of the exhaustion, or do you think she’s willfully blocking the memories?”

Wanda shakes her head. “She wouldn’t do that. I could feel how happy she was from two floors away.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She is very free with her feelings. The only time she’s ever tried to hide her emotions is when she first got here. She was quite scared then.”

“At least I didn’t scare her off.”

“I think it would take a little more than that to scare her off,” Wanda says, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

“I really hope you’re right.” Clint rummages around in the cupboards for a clean mug.

“So she really doesn’t remember _anything_?” Wanda asks.

“Nothing. She actually thinks I’m pretending to like her.” He shakes his head and blows the dust from the mug he found pushed to the farthest corner of the cupboard. “Two months worth of time together and she thinks I’m pretending to care.”

“You have to remember that she was alone for a very long time, Clint,” Wanda says. “She still needs some time to adjust, just like you do.”

“Oh, _I_ need time to adjust?”

“Yes.”

Clint scoffs. “I’ll have you know that I am a well adjusted human being.”

“No, you’re not.”

Clint hangs his head. “You’re right, I’m not.”

“This isn’t something that you can rush, Clint. Give her some space. Drink your coffee. She will remember in time.”

Clint nods absentmindedly and turns his attention back to the coffee pot.

–

I don’t know when I started dreaming, but everything about it seems almost too real.

_“Hey, (Y/N)!” Clint calls as he steps out of the elevator. He’s carrying a tray piled high with lunch and I feel myself grin._

_“Hey! I thought Sam was supposed to be helping out today.”_

_“He was, but Steve needed his help with something.” He stops at the edge of the fields and smirks. “Why, are you disappointed to see me?”_

_I shake my head. “No, never disappointed to see you, Clint.”_

_He smiles and offers me his hand. I hold up dirt-caked hands in response. Clint laughs loudly and jerks his head towards the card table we set up a month ago when we got fed up of eating on the hard-packed dirt floor. He sets the tray down and gestures to the hose ten feet away._

_“Maybe you should wash up before lunch.”_

_“Maybe,” I laugh and follow him over._

_Clint directs the hose towards my hands. Under the spray of the water, the dirt sloughs off and reveals the mildly calloused skin underneath. I feel myself smirk before I flick the water dripping from my fingers at Clint’s face. He gasps and stumbles back several paces, blinking the water from his eyes. His hand tightens around the hose. He looks down at his hand like he’s remembering picking up the hose in the first place. He smirks and presses his thumb over the nozzle and directs the spray at me._

_Before I can even tell him to stop I’m soaked from the wait up. I flick my wet hair out of my eyes and shake water droplets from my hands. I glare at Clint while he grins. Scanning the room, I see a bucket of water left over from minor watering I’d been doing earlier. Clint follows my gaze and his eyes go wide._

_“(Y/N),” he starts, following after me as I brush past him and grab the bucket handle. “(Y/N), no!”_

_“How about, oh, I don’t know… yes?” I suggest, hoisting the bucket up to chest level._

_Clint brings his hands up to shield his face as I slosh a generous amount of water onto him. It crashes over him and he yelps, a shiver running down his spine. He shakes his head and water sprays onto me._

_“How could you!” he cries in mock offense._

_“You started it!”_

_“_ Me _?! How did I start this? You’re the one who was flicking water around!”_

_“You sprayed me with the hose!”_

_“Yeah, and I’m gonna do it again!”_

_He sprays more water at me and I slosh more water onto him. I run away and he chases after me. When I’m out of range of the hose, he drops it in favor of grabbing me around the waist and rubbing his wet, stubbly face against my neck. I squeal and try to squirm out of his grasp, but he’s stronger than I am and he just laughs. When he tries to pick me up, he stumbles and topples to the ground. He lands ass first with me straddling his lap._

_We stare at each other silently, eyes unrealistically wide until Clint snorts loudly and bursts into a laughing fit. His laughter is contagious and I can’t keep myself from joining in. I lean forward and Clint meets me in the middle, pressing his forehead to mine. We do our best to quiet our giggles. Clint steadies his breathing and I can feel his hands traveling up my back. He cups my jaw and I can feel the warmth of his hands seeping into my skin. My eyes flutter closed and I have to force them open when something tells me that I don’t want to miss what’s happening._

_Clint is looking at me as intently as he was that first day in the storage room. The intensity in his eyes doesn’t scare me anymore. It draws me in instead._

_Clint gently pulls my face to his and softly presses his lips to mine. My hands fly to Clint’s shirt, pulling his body closer to mine. Our lips part and I can feel Clint’s breath fanning across my face. He leans in again and then…_

_Nothing._

I sit bolt upright on the cot, drenched in sweat. My breathing is ragged and my heart is beating erratically. My hands clutch at my chest, silently begging everything so slow down. To give me a chance to process what just happened.

What was that dream? It felt so real… but I don’t remember anything like that happening. But the way that Clint was looking at me earlier, like I’d punched him in the gut. Was that real? Is there any way that my brain suppressed memories from the past two days? Maybe the only way I could bring myself to process what happened was in a dream.

I shake my head, silently berating myself for getting my hopes up. I calm my breathing and comb my hands through my hair before I lay down and roll onto my side. The familiar warmth and weight of Webster curls into my stomach and I feel myself start to relax at the realization that Wanda must have brought him back. I tell myself to forget about the dream. I shake my head again and will myself to sleep.

It was just a dream, but it felt so _real_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, kudos and comments are vital to writers continuing what they do, so lemme know what you guys are thinking!


	6. Breakdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning, there's relatively graphic description of torture about halfway/two thirds through this chapter. Absolutely skip it if it's something that makes you uncomfortable, the majority of what happens is explained in the next chapter.
> 
> Chapter 7 will be up January 4th (1/4/2020)

You think you’ll be okay by yourself until we get back?” Tony asks.

I shrug and shift the crate in my arms so that the corners aren’t digging into my stomach. “I was on my own for a year or so. I can find a way to entertain myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. It’s not like I’d be any help if I went with you. I’ve got my plants downstairs and a cat to keep me company. I’ll be fine.”

Tony laughs and shakes his head. “If you get bored, do me a favor will you?”

“Sure, what?” I ask, setting the crate on the growing stack in the quinjet.

“Do a little research on the strike team we’ve been monitoring. We’ve got a shitload of data that’s been piling up for almost four years and unrestricted access to all government databases.”

“How’d you manage that?”

He shrugs. “A little hacking here, a little bribery there. Nothing too incriminating.”

“You’re already a criminal, Tony,” I roll my eyes, unable to keep myself from smiling. “Why do you think I’d be any help with the research?”

“A fresh set of eyes never hurts an investigation. And it looks like more than a few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents defected to their programs over the years. You worked closely with S.H.I.E.L.D., regardless of whether or not you knew it at the time. You might be able to give us a little insight into who we’re dealing with.”

“Make sense.”

“So,” he holds out a hand. “Do we have a deal?”

“Sure, why not.” I shake his hand and he claps me on the shoulder before heading towards the front of the jet.

“(Y/N)?” Clint carefully picks his way through the boxes. Even hearing his voice makes my heart stutter.

“Hey,”

“Can we talk?”

“As long as you help me get these crates on board.”

“You’ve got a deal,” He smiles warmly and it’s like I can’t breathe.

I nod absentmindedly and turn back to the pile of crates waiting in the hangar, We each grab a crate and move it to the quinjet in silence. We do this three times before my curiosity get the best of me.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” I say when we reach the pile again for the fourth time. I lean against the wall and fold my arms across my chest. “Hauling crates in silence, as nice as it is, isn’t talking.”

Clint folds his arms and his back hunches. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

My stomach clenches. He’s right.

“Not on purpose.”

“Really? Because it seems like every time you see me you immediately find somewhere else to be.” I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out and Clint keeps going. “I tried to tell you that I care about you and that we’re friends, but if you’re not gonna listen to me, I don’t know what to do because I don’t think I can deal with being around you if you don’t believe me.”

I look him over, brow furrowing, “Why didn’t you tell me that we kissed?”

_“What?”_

“In the garden, with the water fight and you-I… we _kissed_ and you didn’t tell me?”

“You remembered?”

“I remembered, but I don’t understand why you wouldn’t have told me about it in the first place!”

“You thought I hated you, I didn’t want to drop that on you when you didn’t even remember it. You could have asked me at any time after you remembered, so why didn’t you?”

“Because I didn’t know if it was real!”

“What do you mean?”

“It didn’t just come back to me when I was walking down the hall. The first time I remembered anything about what happened I was dreaming. And that kept happening until everything came back, and I still thought it was just a dream. But then I went to the garden and saw that the ground still hadn’t dried.”

“You thought it was a dream?”

I nod, looking down at my feet. “And a self-indulgent one at that.”

“Self indul-so you mean you’re not upset that we kissed?” I shake my head, a blush steadily blooming across my cheeks. “That doesn’t explain why you were avoiding me.”

“Because I was scared.”

Clint tips my chin up so that I’ll look at him. “Why?” he asks.

I shrug. “This isn’t me. This isn’t what I used to be. I don’t go around having water fights and kissing Avengers.”

“You’re not kissing anyone else, are you?”

I laugh softly and push his hand away. “If I was you’d have already heard about it.”

“Good,” Clint sighs in relief. “I can’t compete with the rest of them.”

“Ugh, Clint, don’t say that,” I take his hand in mine, lacing his fingers with mine. “There’s not even a competition.”

He grins and gently squeezes my hand. “So, are we good?”

I nod. “Yeah, I think we are.”

“BARTON,” Tony yells from across the hangar.

“WHAT,” Clint yells back.

“QUIT FLIRTING AND GET THE CRATES ON THE JET.”

Clint rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Duty calls, I’m afraid.”

“Remember to lift with your legs.”

He laughs and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll see you when we get back, okay?”

“Yeah, just promise you’ll stay safe?”

“I’ll do my best,” He throws a glance over his shoulder at the rest of the team. “We all will.”

–

At this point in time, the crops that Clint and I planted almost three months ago are fairly self-sustaining, only needing daily watering and a little weeding now and then. As fun as pacing through the garden is, it gets old after a couple of days, especially when there’s no one around to do it with. Webster can circle the perimeter three times in the time it takes me to do one, and he’s already lapped me several times. After an hour and a half of walking in circles, I plop down beside the corn and scowl at the ground.

Webster sits in front of me and meows loudly.

“What?” I ask, lifting my head to look at him.

He tilts his head to the side and meows again.

“You do realize that I can’t speak cat, right?” He blinks slowly and I sigh. “Show me what you want.”

He looks me directly in the eye and I swear, if he were human he’d be scowling at me. He makes a soft chirping noise and turns his head towards the elevator before getting up and walking over. I sigh softly and heft myself up from the ground and follow him.

He stands on his hind legs, bracing his front paws on the doors of the elevator and meows loudly.

“Did you hear me talking to Tony in the hangar?” Webster makes a small mrrpt noise and I shake my head, pressing the button to call the elevator. “I swear, it’s like you aren’t even a cat.”

Webster paws at my let and waits for me to pick him up before we even set foot in the elevator. He nuzzles his nose against my chin and purrs loudly when I scratch between his ears.

As soon as I step into the lab, Webster squirms free of my arms and trots over to Tony’s work table. He leaps up onto the stool before moving to lay on the table beside the keyboard. I sit down and stare blankly at the monitor for a moment, debating whether or not I should really do the snooping around Tony asked me to. Of course, it’s tempting, but just the idea of what I might find makes me nauseous.

The sound of my fingers drumming against the metal tabletop fills the room before I realize I’m doing it. I still my hands and force myself to take several deep breaths to calm down.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

_“Yes?”_

“How do I access the data Tony wanted me to look over?”

_“I’ll pull everything up for you.”_

The monitor hums to life and hundreds of lines of code flash across the screen before the homepage appears. Neat rows of files line the screen and the sheer number of them gives me a headache.

“Are there any specific files that I should look through? Tony said something about a strike team.”

_“Yes. I’ll put everything together for you. Mr. Stark mentioned several other files that you might be interested in looking at.”_

“Alright, hit me.”

The screen flashes again and there are only twelve files in two neat rows of six. After a moment of pause a file labeled “Most Wanted” is outlined in red.

_“I think you might want to start with this one.”_

“Why?”

_“Mr. Stark thought you might get a kick out of it.”_

I open up the Most Wanted file and find a list of the government’s most wanted criminals. The Avengers are first on the list, and when I select them, everyone is ranked from most to least dangerous. Steve is in very first place on the list and a masked kid called Spiderman is at the very bottom.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., who’s Spiderman?”

_“He works with a team on the inside.”_

“Inside?”

_“They’re better able to blend in than those higher up on the list.”_

“And where is…” I trail off, squinting at the name above Clint’s. “Bucky Barnes?”

_“He is currently working with the Wakandan faction to covertly provide food to those in need.”_

“That explains why I’ve never seen him.” Exiting out of the Avengers, I select the list below them labeled “Defenders”. “Who are these guys?”

_“They work covert relief in New York City. Mr. Stark has yet to make prolonged contact with them.”_

“Weird.” I scan their descriptions and can’t help but be impressed. “So a blind man is a masked vigilante?”

_“It takes all types.”_

“Certainly does.”

Directly beneath the Defenders is a list labeled S.H.I.E.L.D.. When I select it, I expect a long list of names but it’s only me. I’m the third in the list of organizations most wanted by the government. I snort and shake my head, unable to completely take this information seriously.

“There’s absolutely no way I could ever be dangerous enough to warrant this.”

_“Mr. Stark felt the same. You don’t exactly look dangerous.”_

“Absolutely not.”

Beneath S.H.I.E.L.D. there are several other people who appear to be high ranking military and government officials who when rogue years prior. While they’re important, it would seem that those with powers are higher on the list. That doesn’t explain why I’m number three on the list though.

I shuffle through several other files and find absolutely nothing interesting. Most of what Tony has found is lists and pictures of burned out and ransacked farm stations across the country. Anyone who had been in those stations either ran or were captured, so no one was physically hurt. Could it be that the government is trying to collect us so we’ll grow crops for them? They destroy our homes and our lives, but we’re just names to cross off their list. The very idea enrages me, but I know I can’t allow myself to get too angry. This isn’t what Tony asked me to look for. Even so, I scroll through several more documents filled with information on farm stations. There are several instances of severely burned out farms, but the majority are intact and there are even pictures of crop growth from as late as then hours ago.

I commandeer the notepad next to the mouse and take notes on what I’ve found and in which files. I make sure to note which farms had the most recent pictures before moving on.

In the file labeled “operatives” there are about fifty other files. I scan through about fifteen before I recognize any names or faces. I note each person from my farm who had defected and move along, not wanting to dwell on them for too long. All in all, I find about twenty people who are doing grunt work, but there’s still the strike team to look at. There are several files on it, but I find nothing of importance in the first, just a bunch of boring progress reports on what look to be routine training sessions and check-ins on farm stations that have been taken over. The second file is much of the same, but the third finally has some interesting information.

Grant Ward’s face stares back at me as soon as I select the file. The bio underneath gives his date of birth, blood type, and the date he was recruited which is about two years before Phil died. He left about six months after Phil’s death with a faction of people who weren’t content with me in charge. Come to think of it, several of those people were in the first file.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., make a note of Grant Ward.”

 _“Of course,”_ Ward’s name is highlighted in yellow and his picture framed with bright red. _“Do you know him?”_

“I thought I did.” I scowl at his picture on the screen. “He was close to Phil before he passed and didn’t like me much. Turns out he was working for the government the entire time.”

_“A traitor.”_

“Mhm,” I hum. Webster scoots closer as I scroll down like he can sense my frustration.

Ward is at the head of something called operation Purge. There’s a link to other files pertaining to the op, so I select it, my curiosity getting the best of me.

A barrage of bloody images fills the screen and I have to grab onto the table and force myself to stay seated. My stomach lurches at the sight of maimed bodies, meticulously labelled and systematically dissected.

A woman who looks too much like Daisy lays prone on a metal table, deep gashes scored into her body. She breathes heavily, but doesn’t scream . Her wounds slowly start to heal before the video shows someone opening them again and going deeper and deeper until they hit bone and only then does she scream.

A bloodied man is held upright on a table with canvas straps, nodes stuck all over his naked body screams when someone presses a button. The air crackles around him and heavy waves of electricity are siphoned from him. His body is left twitching unnaturally, the skin around the nodes an angry red. They allow his body to relax momentarily before pressing the button again ad restarting the process.

Every subject has a large red X next to their number and it carries on like that for twenty people until someone catches my eye. This time the video is a live feed of the holding cell. The person inside is slumped in one corner, her head hung forward so her chin rests on her chest. The door slams open and she jerks her head up. It’s Daisy. Ragged, dirty, bloody, bruised, and beaten, but Daisy.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can we get audio on this?”

_“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”_

“I need to know what they’re saying.”

_“Alright. Connecting to microphones now.”_

There’s a crackle of static through the room before the audio feed starts.

_“Hello, Skye.”_

_“I told you, that’s not my name.”_

_“Oh right, you go by_ Daisy _now.”_ I see Ward step further into the cell, shaking his head. _“Y’know, that never stuck for me.”_

_“Doesn’t matter. Stuck for my parents. And Phil. And literally anyone else we worked with.”_

Someone new steps into frame and whispers something in Ward’s ear. He looks directly into the camera and his mouth curves up into a cruel grin. I can’t help it this time and I stand abruptly, the stool pushing out behind me and falling to the floor with a cacophonous crash.

 _“It seems we have company,”_ Ward says.

Daisy looks around the room wearily before she sees where Ward is looking. Her shoulders shake as she tries to keep herself from crying and hot tears stream down my cheeks. They can’t hear me, but I clap a hand over my mouth to muffle my sobs.

_“Whoever you are, you’re too late. Skye’s the only one left. May is dead. Fitz and Simmons too. Dead.”_

Daisy shakes her head. _“He’s lying. Don’t listen to him. They’re not dead. They’re not. They’re not. Don’t listen. Don’t listen. Don’t-”_

She’s cut short when Ward sinks his boot into her stomach. She crumples into herself and curls into a ball on the floor.

_“I don’t care who you are, but your days of spying are over.”_

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., make a copy of every file we have, right now. Make sure it’s secure.”

_“Of course.”_

_“Your little friends are dead. Whatever it is you’re planning won’t work. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll forget this, or Skye’ll be taking a dirt nap before you can blink.”_

He gestures to someone out of frame and the feed disappears.

_“We’ve lost the connection.”_

I clutch the table with one hand as my breathing picks up and my head starts to feel fuzzy. A heavy wave of nausea hits me and my knees buckle. I can’t catch myself and I fall to the floor, hunched over, head in my hands. I let out a cry of anguish and I feel something leave my body, somehow leaving me feeling heavier and more nauseous than before. The lab goes dark as a broken sob escapes my throat and another pulse of something leaves with it.

I can’t stem the flow of tears and, all at once, everything is too hot and I can’t catch my breath.

Stumbling out of the lab, I manage to find my way back to my room.I throw the door open and head for the shower. I turn on an icy cold spray and settle on the tiled floor and let the singing cold water numb my body.

I fucked up. I’m the reason my friends are dead and dying. This is all my fault. _It’s my fault._

–

It could have been hours or minutes later that the door to my room slammed open and someone turned off the water. They wrapped me in a towel and held me close. They combed their fingers through my hair and let me cry into their chest. They let me fall asleep in their arms. They didn’t ask any more of me past that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, please leave kudos and comments! I love to know what you guys are thinking.


	7. Shaken Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty much just Clint worrying over the reader, which is honestly one of my favorite things. Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> The next chapter will be posted between January 18th or 19th (1/18/2020-1/19/2020)

_“Sir, there’s been an incident.”_

“What kind of incident?” Tony asks.

_“The compound has gone dark. A surge of energy took out all power sources.”_

“How?”

_“It was (Y/N). She had an emotional response to the information found in the files. It would be best to return as soon as you are able.”_

“How could (Y/N) cause a compound wide blackout?” Clint inquires.

_“It was some kind of biological energy pulse. Further investigation will be needed to fully explain.”_

“Is she alright, though? Where is she now?”

_“She’s not doing so well. She’s shut herself in her room and the shower is on. The temperature gauge indicates that the water is running at its coldest.”_

“We’re going back,” Steve speaks up. “Turn it around Clint.”

“Wasn’t even gonna ask permission, Cap, but thanks.”

Clint guides the quinjet into a sharp bank and immediately sets a course for New York. Tony leans over his shoulder and presses a dark blue button on the control panel.

“Hold onto something,” he calls. “Unless you want to be wall pizza.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Stark?” Sam asks, buckling himself into his seat regardless.

“I’ve been tinkering with applying the turbo boost from your wings to the quinjets.”

“And it works?”

“Hypothetically, yes.” Tony steps back and straps in with the rest of the team. “Flip the switch on the left of the button I just pressed when I give the signal.”

“What’s the signal, Stark?”

“The signal is…” Tony trails off, tightening the straps of his harness. _“NOW.”_

Clint flips the switch and the quinjet shoots through the sky. The force of the speed flattens everyone against the backs of their seats and most are left clutching at the straps of their harnesses. Clint grips the controls so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“I can’t believe it works!” Tony exclaims.

“You _what_?!” Clint roars.

“It was experimental, Barton, get over it. We didn’t die or anything.”

“You can’t keep doing this, Tony,” Steve says, all color drained from his face. “One of these days, you actually might kill us.”

Tony laughs hysterically. “Yeah, that’ll be the day.”

The cabin lapses into silence. Clint focuses on keeping the quinjet on course while the rest of the team focus on keeping their last meal down.

The reach the compound in a third of the time it would have taken. As soon as the quinjet comes to a full stop, Clint is out of his seat and sprinting for (Y/N)’s room. Tony stares after him, unsure of what to do.

“What’s the plan, Tony?” Steve asks.

Tony shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“Well here’s one,” Natasha steps up beside the two men and folds her arms. “You two and banner stay here. I’ll take Wilson and Maximoff back with me to meet up with Rhodey. We can finish the mission and be back within a couple of days.”

“Are you sure?” Steve turns to look at her. “That’s a lot for three people.”

“Of course I’m sure,” Natasha snorts. “Wanda is a powerhouse on her own, I think we can more than handle this without you. You’re needed here. She needs Clint and Tony, and Clint needs you here to keep his head straight. He’s nothing but emotional when it comes to (Y/N).”

Steve nods once. “Alright. Refuel and get back out there. I want progress daily.”

“Understood. Go, help them.”

Steve, Tony, and Bruce cram into the staircase as the quinjet takes off again. The power is still out and the stairwell is lit by the dull, orangey emergency lights.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” Tony says, pressing one finger to the comm in his ear. “Has Barton reached our girl?”

_“Yes, boss. He’s got her warming up in his room.”_

Relieved, Tony sighs and gives Steve and Bruce a thumbs up. “Divert all resources to restoring power. We need to figure out how this happened, ASAP.”

_“Understood.”_

“I’ll check on Clint and (Y/N),” Steve says. “You two go on ahead to the lab.”

Tony nods and the three of them part ways. When Steve pushes the door to Clint’s room open, he’s hit in the head with a box of bandages Clint flung at him from where he sat on the bed. He’s got (Y/N) wrapped in a towel and several blankets, cradled against his body. Clint signs “Sorry”, but doesn’t move an inch from his place in bed. Steve shakes his head and silently approaches.

“How is she?” Steve whispers.

“Incoherent,” Clint answers. “She’s been asking for her cat since I found her.”

“That seems odd.”

“She hasn’t even acknowledged me since I picked her up. She just wants him.” Clint tucks a few strands of drying hair behind her ear. “Will you go find him?”

(Y/N) mumbles out a soft “Webster” and pushes her face into Clint’s chest. Steve watches his jaw clench and his arms tighten around her. He nods once and heads for the hallway only to pause when he gets to the door. He turns back to look at Clint and (Y/N).

“I’ve never seen you this caught up on someone,” he comments.

“Yeah, well,” Clint smiles ruefully. “Had to happen some time, right?”

Steve snorts and smiles in spite of himself. “You deserve it, Clint.”

Clint rolls his eyes. “Would you just go find that damn cat?”

The lamp beside Clint’s bed flickers to life briefly and goes out a second later.

“Looks like Tony and Bruce are making progress with the power,” Steve says. “I’ll be back with her cat as soon as I can.”

–

Steve finds Webster pacing outside the door to the lab. He yowls loudly as Steve approaches and paws at the door.

“She’s not in there,” Steve stoops down and scoops him up. Webster meows again. “She’s with Clint.”

Bruce pokes his head out into the hallway. “Why are you talking to the cat?” He tilts his head to the side. “I thought you were checking on (Y/N).”

“I was. She’s been asking to her cat and Clint sent me to find him.” The hallway lights flicker on and stay lit for several seconds before the power fails again. “Have you made any progress?”

Bruce shakes his head. “Every time we get close, something goes wrong.”

“Could that have anything to do with (Y/N) being the source of the outage?”

“I have no idea, but that could be a possibility. I’ll mention it to Tony.”

“Alright,” Steve nods once.

“How’s she doing?” Bruce asks.

“She hasn’t woken up yet. Barton hopes that her cat’ll help.”

“Really?”

Steve shrugs. “No idea if it’ll work, but it’s worth a try.”

“That’s fair.”

“I should drop Webster off with Barton. Good luck with the generators, I’ll let you know if anything with her changes.”

Steve bids Bruce farewell and heads back to Clint’s room.

–

Steve manages to keep hold of the cat all the way up until halfway down the hallway to Clint’s room. He wiggles from Steve’s arms and sprints towards the bedroom, making little concerned noises as he goes. Webster presses his nose to the space between the open door and it’s frame and pushes the door open just enough to get in. Steve shuffles in after him and stands just inside the doorway, keeping his distance in case he’s called away.

Steve notices (Y/N) stir as Webster gets closer. Clint pats the bed, beckoning for him to jump up and cuddle up to (Y/N). The cat makes a quiet trilling noise and presses his nose to (Y/N)’s cheek before climbing into her lap and curling up against her chest. Clint pulls both of them closer and presses a kiss to (Y/N)’s forehead. His eyes are unfocused and he doesn’t appear to be looking at anything. The orange glow from the emergency lights casts an eerie glow on the room, making both (Y/N) and Clint look sickly and gaunt.

“Thank you,” Clint mumbles.

“Don’t worry about it, Clint. You’re already worrying about her enough for all of us.” Steve steps further into the room and takes a seat in the chair off to the side of Clint’s bed. “I’ll wait with you till she wakes up if you want.”

“Thanks, man, but…” Clint trails off and shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that. You probably have more important things to do.”

“Unless I magically became an expert on electrical engineering, and I haven’t, the most important thing for me to be doing right now is taking care of my team. That includes the two of you.”

“I… thank you. Look, I-”

“Clint?”

Clint snaps his mouth shut and his eyes go wide. His arms tighten around (Y/N) and he presses his forehead to hers. She squirms in his arms and tries to push herself away so Webster can wriggle away. Clint presses frantic kisses all over (Y/N)’s face and runs his thumbs over her cheeks.

“Clint, I’m fine,” (Y/N) says softly. “What’s going on?”

“The whole facility is blacked out. F.R.I.D.A.Y. told us to come back and you were half-conscious in a freezing cold shower when I found you.” Clint shakes his head and (Y/N) covers his hands with hers. “What _happened_?”

Her brows pull together as she tries to remember. When she does, her face crumples and her hands tighten around Clints. “My entire team is either dead or being tortured by someone they were supposed to be able to trust.” Tears roll down her cheeks and Clint pulls her close to his chest. “I’m supposed to be their leader. This is all my fault.”

“What is?” Steve asks.

“Steve…” Clint’s tone is low and filled with warning.

“Grant Ward…” (Y/N) rubs away her tears with the butt of her hand. “H-he was working for _them_ the entire time, and he helped them capture and torture _everyone_.”

Steve opens his mouth to ask something but thinks better of it when he sees (Y/N) shiver and curl tighter in on herself. Clint presses a kiss to her forehead and gently rocks her. Several minutes pass before she even shows signs of beginning to calm down. Clint whispers soft reassurances to her, but each time (Y/N) shakes her head in denial. The look of defeat on Clint’s face causes Steve to frown.

“The power’s still out, I’m gonna go check on Tony and Bruce.”

“I’m sorry,” (Y/N) says softly. “The blackout is my fault.”

Steve halts getting out of his chair.

“What?”

“I was watching the feed of Ward and when it cut out..” she shakes her head and stares off into space. “I wasn’t in control of my emotions. Webster ran off and it felt like something left my body and then everything went dark.”

“Webster ran off before that happened?” Steve asks. (Y/N) nods. Steve makes eye contact with Clint as he hurriedly stands from his seat.

“Where are you going?” Clint inquires.

Steve shakes his head. “I just thought of something. I need to run it by Tony.”

Clint nods and Steve disappears through the door.

–

It took nearly two hours to get the power restored. More than enough time for Steve to speak with Tony about his idea.

“So you think (Y/N) has electrical powers.” Steve nods. “And the cat is her ground?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds absolutely insane. How could she not know she had powers?”

Steve shakes his head and shrugs. “If her cat keeps her balanced and she spends every moment with him, then is there any way for her to effect any tech around her?”

“That-that’s not how electricity works, Steve,” Bruce says.

“Isn’t it? The power has to have somewhere to go, otherwise, it goes haywire or overloads the source, right?”

“Perhaps, but how would she have gotten the powers in the first place? Was she born with them?”

“She could be an Inhuman,” Tony offers. “S.H.I.E.L.D. was notorious for their work with Inhumans and terrigen crystals. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a few crystals left at the compound she was in charge of.”

“That still doesn’t explain the cat.”

Tony shrugs. “She said she’s only had him for a year or so. Could have gone through the change together if they were in the same room when the crystal broke.”

“Animals can go through the mists?” Steve asks.

“I never found anything that would suggest otherwise,” Tony says. “But that doesn’t matter. From what you said, it sounds like (Y/N) is pretty shaken up.”

“She is. I’ve never seen her this distant before. Barton’s really worried about her too. More worried than he’s been since Wanda fucked with Nat’s head years ago.”

Tony and Bruce wince at the memory.

“We’ll get it figured out,” Tony says. “Everything will be fine.”

–

“You think you’re good to walk on your own?”

I nod and tightly grip Clint’s hand.

“Just stick close, okay? I’m still a little wobbly.”

Clint guides me from his room to the elevator. He fully supports my weight as he punches in the floor number and holds me close as we wait for the doors to open again.

Across the hall, I can see Tony, Bruce, and Steve sitting around a table. They all look up when the elevator doors close again and I wave and shoot them a half-hearted smile. Tony smiles and meets us at the door.

“Heard you weren’t doing so hot,” he says.

“Yeah, I really wasn’t. Probably gonna be a while before I’m back at my best.”

“There’s no rush, sweetheart, don’t worry.”

Clint’s arm around my waist tightens and I rest my head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry for scaring you guys. I did something stupid while going through the files and I ignored F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s warnings. All of the information should be fine, but I take full responsibility for anything we lost.”

Tony shakes his head. “I checked when we got the systems back online. Everything is safe.”

“That’s good.” I pause and chew on the inside of my cheek. “About the blackout… I don’t know how I did it.”

“We have a few theories,” Bruce says. “If you want to better understand what happened, there are tests that we can run.”

“Let’s do it.”

“Really?” Clint asks.

I nod resolutely. “I need to know what happened. Why it happened. If I can control it, and how… I have to know.”

Tony nods once, a smile on his face. “Alright then, let’s get started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, please leave kudos and comments! I love to know what you guys are thinking.


	8. Lab Rat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't promise a specific date for an update, but I promise that more will come in the future! Quarantine and working from home has completely messed everything up the last few months. Anyway, please enjoy!

Clint takes a single step through the lab doors and freezes. (Y/N) is lying on a table while Tony stands five feet away, Webster cradled in his arms. Bruce is monitoring vitals and something else that Clint can’t readily identify. **  
**

“What the hell is going on here?”

(Y/N) promptly turns her head when she hears his voice.

“Hey!” she says cheerfully. “We’re trying to figure out how far away Webster can be from me before I start wigging out.”

“And you think this is a good idea why, exactly?” Clint asks, narrowing his eyes.

“C’mere,” (Y/N) says, making grabby hands motions at Clint. He grudgingly shuffles over. “I know you’re still on edge, but everything is fine.”

“I don’t know about this, (Y/N)…”

She presses her index finger into the furrow between his brows. “You’re starting to sound like Steve.” Clint just scowls harder and (Y/N) takes his face in her hands. “We’re not going to do anything crazy, I promise. We’ll be done in twenty minutes-“

“We will?” Tony interrupts. (Y/N) aims a glare in his direction and he nods jerkily. “Yeah, sure, we’ll be done in twenty minutes, Barton, nothing to worry about.”

Clint takes one of (Y/N)’s hands in his and leans on the table, supporting himself with the other. She cups one of his cheeks and props herself up on one elbow to kiss him. Clint sighs and leans into her touch. He kisses her back and pecks her on the lips before pulling away. Tony makes a fake vomiting noise and (Y/N) presses her lips together and pushes Clint away so she can swing her legs over the side of the table and hop down.

“Come on, Webster, we’re going on a walk,” she says, snapping her fingers to get the cat’s attention.

“But I thought you said twenty minutes!” Tony protests, gesturing with his hands as soon as Webster jumps down.

“Yeah, I know,” (Y/N) looks around the room and shrugs. “I need a break from the lab and you probably do too. Can we pick this up tomorrow morning?”

Tony’s shoulders slump and he nods. “Yeah.”

“Cool,” She looks past Tony to Bruce. “Make sure he gets some sleep, okay? I don’t think he’s gotten more than five hours over the past couple days.”

Tony opens his mouth, a whine already starting at the back of his throat, but Bruce jumps in and shoves a rag from Tony’s workbench into his mouth. “Don’t worry, I will. You two just go relax.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” (Y/N) smiles as Clint pulls her from the lab.

–

“Y’know, you never really talked about what you saw last week,” Clint says. He pushes a mug of tea towards me.

I nod and wrap my hands around the warm ceramic. “Yeah.”

“You want to?”

I shake my head. “I should tell you though. You deserve to know what happened.”

“You don’t have to, (Y/N),” His voice softens and he reaches over to rest his hand on my forearm. “If the way it affected you is any indication, it had to be pretty bad.”

“That doesn’t matter, Clint. I should talk about it. I have to figure out what it means and-and how I fit into all of this.” I glare at my tea. “Did you know I’m number three on the most wanted list right now?”

“I’m sorry, _what_?” He reaches across the table for one of my hands and I take it. “How could you _possibly_ be number three?”

I shrug. “Technically S.H.I.E.L.D. is number three but, considering I’m the only one left, that makes me the only one on the list.”

“Who’s number one?”

“You,” I say. “The Avengers, I mean.”

“I guess that was kind of obvious, wasn’t it?” He rests a hand on my wrist. “I’m sorry you’re number three on the most wanted list. I know it’s a lot to deal with, especially when you pile that onto everything else.”

“It’s fine, really-”

“It really isn’t.”

“I have more than enough support here thanks to you, and Tony, and Bruce, and even Steve. Mostly you.” He grins and sits a little taller in his chair. “But… I-” I stop and take a deep breath to calm myself. “When I was looking through the documents Tony put together, I found lots of my people were doing grunt work for the government. When I dug deeper, I found Ward at the head of an operation whose goal seems to be to exterminate Inhumans. The scale of the torture in those files… it looked like those blurry photos from old Hydra labs.”

_“What?”_

“There was one woman with a healing factor that they had on a slab, and they just kept opening her wounds _right_ as they were starting to heal and they kept going _deeper,_ and now she and dozens, maybe _hundreds_ of others are dead.”

Clint presses his lips together, doing his best to let me talk and get everything out.

“They’ve got everything documented like they’re dissecting a frog in biology class. There’s no emotion behind what they’re doing. And-and then I found a live video feed of Daisy. Someone entered her cell and I made the mistake of telling F.R.I.D.A.Y. to access the audio. They caught on and-and they punished her. It was so hard to watch… that’s about the time I started to lose control and Webster ran away and things went completely pear-shaped.”

“(Y/N), I am so sorry.”

“Ward said that everyone else was dead, but Daisy said he was lying… I don’t know what to believe, Clint. And I’m worried that they’ve been stuck there for almost a year and a half and I _really_ fucked this up. They could be punished because I was stupid and didn’t listen to F.R.I.D.A.Y. when I should have.” I angrily wipe away a few rogue tears. “All of this is probably my fault.”

“Oh, baby, no it’s not.” Clint moves the mug to the side and gathers my hands in his. “Did Daisy and the others leave on their own?”

I nod. “They were going out to look for a few people who had disappeared.”

“Were they agents before you showed up at the church?” I nod again. “Then there was nothing you could have done to prepare them for what was waiting. They were just doing their jobs.”

“Yeah, but I-I shouldn’t have let them leave. I should have convinced them that I needed them there.” I shake my head. “I have to get them back.”

Clint nods. “We will.”

“I need to learn about my powers first.”

“And you will. Tomorrow. Just like you told Tony.”

I nod and look down at our hands. “Do you think Wanda might be able to help?”

“I’m sure she would. They’ll be back in a day or so.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all of this. I don’t want to burden you with my mistakes.”

“Believe me, I’ve fucked up more than enough for the both of us.” His hands tighten around mine and I look up to find his expression soft. “I want to be here for you when you need me. It doesn’t matter what it is. I will make myself available.”

I laugh half-heartedly. “I’m grateful that you care, but don’t push yourself too hard.”

“(Y/N), come on, I’m being serious!”

“I know you are, but if we’re any more serious, I’m gonna freak out more than I already am.”

“Aw no, neither of us can be the serious one in this relationship.” He leans across the table and squeezes my hands. “You wanna take a distraction nap and maybe kiss a little till everything calms down?”

“Sounds good.”

He grins and pulls me from the kitchen, The tea sits abandoned on the table. We curl up together in Clint’s bed and refuse to think about anything pressing.

–

“Feeling better today?” Bruce asks.

“I am, thank you.”

“Is Clint going to hover the entire time?” Tony asks, throwing looks at the doorway where Clint stands.

“I’m holding the cat,” Clint says simply.

“That’s a yes,” I clarify.

“So we’re actually going to finish today?” I nod and Tony grins. “Fantastic! Your table awaits.”

I roll my eyes and gesture for Clint to come further into the lab as I climb onto the table. I reach out for one of his hands and press a quick kiss to his knuckles. Clint stands beside me, Webster tucked under his arm. Tony and Bruce flit around, tweaking the nodes they’ve stuck to my body and fussing with machinery. Clint watches them closely. He understands things more than he lets on and likes figuring out how things work. My powers are no exception.

“We’ll just pick up where we left off yesterday then,” Tony says. “Barton, you’ll be moving Webster away in increments so that we can measure the electrical activity and changes in vital readings.”

Clint nods and takes a step back from the table. Bruce and Tony stay glued to the monitors until there’s a spike in heart rate. At that point, Clint is at the door to the stairwell. My fingers start to feel tingly. Like I sat on them for too long.

“I’m fine,” I say, watching small sparks crackle between my fingers. I ball my hands into fists to make it go away. “Keep going.”

Tony passes along the message and the experiment resumes.

My body gets stiffer the farther away Clint is. It gets to the point that I can’t unclench my jaw and have to ask Tony to bring Clint back through gritted teeth. It takes Clint almost eight minutes to return to the lab. He had been three floors down in the stairwell.

I can feel Webster getting closer and by the time he and Clint are back in the lab I’m able to fully sit up again. Clint quickly crosses the room and ghosts his fingers over one cheek. I look up, eyebrows raised and Clint mirrors my expression. I take his hand and press it to my cheek and the corner of his mouth quirks up.

“I’m okay,” I murmur.

“Sure doesn’t look like it.” He runs his thumb over my cheek and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

“Any conclusions?” I ask.

“As soon as Clint was on the floor below us, we saw your powers start to surface. Adverse effects didn’t really settle in till he hit the third floor down.” Bruce points to one spike on the chart. “This happened when he reached the staircase on this floor.”

“Which means?”

“Which means that’s our sweet spot,” Tony says. “It’s the point where your fingers are sparking, but you’re still in control.”

“But I thought _I_ was your sweet spot!” Clint whines. I laugh and he grins.

“Different kind of sweet spot, Clint.” He just laughs and ducks in to kiss my neck before I can push him away.

“You two are disgusting.”

“Don’t be jealous, Tony,” Clint says. “You’ll be reunited with Rhodey in no time!”

“I know you mean well, but shut up, Barton.”

“Okay, let’s put relationships aside for now,” I suggest. “What does the initial data tell us?”

“In short, Webster shouldn’t be more than a floor away from you until you can better control your powers. Which could take a while,” Bruce explains.

I nod. “I plan on asking Wanda for help when she gets back. Even if she can’t tell me what to do, I might at least get an idea of where to start.”

“Good,” Tony says. “I’ll revamp one of the training rooms. Make it a little safer to let loose.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

“Do you know any self-defense?” Clint asks.

I shake my head. “Only basic stuff. Melinda made sure of that, at least.”

“Melinda… May?”

“Yeah, Daisy said I should go to her if I wanted to learn anything.”

Clint nods slowly. “Something tells me she taught you a little more than the basics.”

“Sounds like a theory you might need to test out,” Tony says, grinning. “Maybe the rest of us should be there too. As a precaution, of course.”

“You just wanna watch me get my ass kicked,” Clint mutters.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Tony,” Bruce says.

“Seriously?” Tony looks offended.

“Come on. You’re assuming she’s got training that she might not. Let’s wait till the rest of the team gets back. Natasha can work with her or stand in as a ref while Clint spars with her.”

Clint lets out a heavy sigh of relief and I laugh and reach out to rub his back.

“You really just want to take the fun out of everything, don’t you?” Tony asks.

“Yeah,” Bruce snorts, his mouth quirking up into a playful smile. “Kind of.”

Tony scowls.

“Come on, Tony,” I say. “It can wait a day or so. Maybe we could work on the hydroponics while we wait?”

He perks up at the offer. “Really?”

“Well, considering the last time we tried to finish anything up, we were too exhausted to walk straight, I figure we could manage to squeeze in a little time to work together.”

“You’ll have help this time,” Bruce says. “No working twenty-four hours straight this time.”

“Again with the fun sucking!” Tony cries.

I chuckle softly. “It’s not sucking the fun out of anything. If we’re well-rested we’ll do better work.”

“Yeah, you say that now, but just you wait till we’re right in the middle of something good, and then it’s time to take a break, and then you have to come back to it later?!”

“Bruce, I think he needs some rest.”

Bruce nods. “We’ll meet you in the lab tomorrow. Enjoy your freedom while you can.”

I laugh and Clint pulls me against his side. “He was joking, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear what y'all thought, so comments are always welcome, and kudos keep me going!

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and kudos would be greatly appreciated! I always want to know what you guys think!


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